


The Sun and The Moon

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: Lightning Struck [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fenris (Dragon Age) Smut, Fenris in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fenris is Bad at Feelings, Fenris/Mage Hawke - Freeform, First Time, First Time Together, Fluff and Angst, Hawke in Dragon Age: Inquisition, Hawke in Love, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Married Sex, Minor Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Past Abuse, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Reunion Sex, Romantic Angst, Self-Indulgent, Shameless Smut, Smut, Wish Fulfillment, positive consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-02 21:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: Marian Hawke is golden as the sun, warm and loving as the fire she loves to throw at her enemies with a smile.Fenris is silver as the moon, cold and hurting like the lyrium markings that cover his skin and destroyed his memory.Two opposites, yet somehow so desperate for each other.My take on Fem!Hawke (mage) and Fenris, as they appear in Eye of the Storm.Collection of semi one shots highlighting their relationship, angst and smut to eventual heavy fluff and happy ending.





	1. Fen & Marian

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't resist doing my take on this. Features Marian and Fenris as portrayed in Eye of the Storm (Chapter: The Sun and the Moon)
> 
> Begins with their first night together.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

            “So you’re just going to leave?” she demanded.

            She couldn’t believe it. He had come to apologize, he said, he had come to explain. They had taken care of the mage who was after him, the woman he said had tormented him while he was a slave. And then he had bolted, angry that she had pushed him again, tried once more to get him to see that all mages weren’t the same.

            Because if he kept believing all mages were the same, that meant he thought that she was the same.

            The thought tore her to pieces, it made her heart ache.

            He lowered his hands from his forehead with a deep sigh, and made as if to leave the manor.

            He was walking away from her. They had fought, again, but he was frustrated. She could tell he was upset that their conversation had taken this turn. And so was she – she hadn’t meant to upset him. She had only meant to make him see that he was wrong.

            She only wanted him to see her, as she really was. Not like Hadriana, not like Denarius. Not even like Anders or Merrill, or any of the mages in Kirkwall that they had encountered.

            She wanted him to see that she could care, that she _did_ care.

            How many nights had they sat alone drinking wine, talking about the past, talking about whatever came into their minds? And he’d started to sit so close to her, his large green eyes taking on an excited sparkle as he watched her speak. He looked like he was enthralled, like he couldn’t get enough of her as she talked with him, told him stories, listened to his memories and ideas. He had begun to let her to teach him to read, though he had been embarrassed and nervous at first. And now he invited her over constantly, hoping she would bring a new book for him to read to her as she sat absorbed in the sound of his voice, trying to keep herself from touching him at all. She tried to be content just spending time with him, listening to him stumble over a new word, watching him drink wine from the bottle they shared. She tried not to think about how she relished the idea that she was drinking from it right after him, feeling as intimate as a kiss. She tried not to ruin those nights by pushing too far, to ruin things by prompting him to tell her if he could see her as more than a mage. To tell her if he could trust her. Or care for her. Or love her.

            How many evenings were they spending together in peaceful camaraderie? Too many to still be fighting like this, like he didn’t know who she really was, or that she really cared about him and how he was faring. Even when they argued, even when they debated, she could still get him to flirt with her, to admit that he enjoyed her company, enjoyed speaking with her, even if she irked him. She could still get him to act like he was receptive, and his eyes always gleamed when he was, like he was thrilled she was showing him that affection.

            But now, this, watching him prepare to walk away from her after this fight…

            It was too much.

            She reached out to him and grabbed his arm. She needed him to understand.

            She needed him to see her.

            His markings suddenly glowed, and he growled as he turned to face her, his face contorted in a dangerous scowl. He grabbed her arms in turn and pushed her against the wall, roughly, surprisingly.

            He didn’t try to hurt her, though. His lyrium markings stopped glowing, they were calm once more. But his face was close to hers, his eyes searching her face. She couldn’t tell if he was in pain, or if he was struggling with some internal question.

            He was so close to her. They’d never been this close, not really. Maybe in battle, the few times he’d pushed her aside when he thought she was in the way of danger. Maybe the time she’d tried to get him to let her heal his wound, and he’d jumped away from her with a yell.

            He was breathing heavily, but he wasn’t trying to move away from her. He had been about to leave, but now he looked like he was struggling with the desire to get closer.

            The urge overwhelmed her, the desire she’d been fighting since they had met. The desire she struggled with every night they spent reading in front of the fire, drinking wine and smiling softly at each other. She was done being patient, done questioning. She was a woman of action, and it was time she acted like it.

            She leaned forward and closed the distance between their faces, their breath mingling with their close proximity, and pressed her lips against his.

            He tightened his grip on her arms, and for a moment she was scared he was going to push her away. Instead he pulled her more closely to him as he stepped forward, pressing her back into the wall. His mouth twisted against hers, he gently encouraged her to part her lips and slid his tongue inside.

            She moaned, her hands grasping his armored back as she responded to his tentatively searching tongue with hers. He made his own noise of approval, somewhere between a growl and a moan, and kept pushing her back against the wall, as if he couldn’t get close enough to her.

            They kissed for several long moments, only lips and tongues wrestling, trying to show each other how much they wanted one another, how long they had been resisting this. He finally pulled away slightly, dragging her bottom lip between his teeth as he did. She whimpered.

            “Fen – Fen,” she moaned, suddenly shortening his name how she had always longed to, the pet name she lovingly called him in her head. “Please, I -”

            “Marian,” he whispered against her lips, “I – I want you.”

            It was the first time he had called her anything but Hawke, the first time she had heard his velvety voice say her first name. It sent a shiver through her so intense her knees weakened and she was sure it was only his grip on her arms that held her up.

            “I want you – I’ve wanted you, Fen – for so long,” she murmured, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

            It seemed like all he needed to hear, all the consent or encouragement he needed. He released her arms from his powerful grip and took her hand in his, walking swiftly as he led her out of the room to the stairs. She squeezed his hand a little, as if reassuring him, as if silently telling him he could lead her where he wanted to.

            They climbed the stairs quickly and he pulled her to her bedroom, entering and closing the door behind them. Once he had locked it he tugged by her hand over to the bed, still not saying a word as he turned back to face her. He sat on the foot of the bed and pulled her to him, his hands on her hips as he guided her to straddle him where he sat.

            He was still in his armor, and she chafed a bit at its presence, feeling like it was in the way of getting close enough to him. But she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with wild abandon, finally allowed to show him, to let him know how desperately she had wanted this since the first.

            Behind her back she could feel him tugging at his gloves as she kissed him, and she heard them clatter to the floor once he had managed to pull them off. He brought his hands to her cheeks and held her face as he kissed her, and she relished the feeling of his bare skin on hers. His hands were calloused, hot and rough from his large broadsword and his years as a slave. The feeling on her soft cheeks made her moan, and he pulled away from the kiss for a moment to look at her. He almost looked lost in wonder, like he couldn’t believe she was making those noises for _him_.

            He carefully pushed some hair off her face, and then slid one hand to the back of her head and twisted it into her silky golden curls.

            “Marian,” he murmured again, and he kissed her, holding her face still as he stole her breath with sudden intense passion.

            “Fen, please – please, I want to -”

            “Me too,” he growled, and she wondered a bit at the tone of his voice, the way he declared it so proudly.

            She began fumbling with the fastenings on his armor, tugging them free before she pulled the pieces off of him. When she had removed his heavy chest piece and thrown it behind her on the floor, she stared in wonder at his chest, at the markings that covered it. She wanted to caress his skin, wanted to feel his hot flesh under her fingers, but she worried she may hurt him. She worried she may accidentally try to draw the lyrium out and hurt him, make him think she really was like every other mage.

            “Fen, may I – may I touch you? I don’t want to hurt you,” she asked, and looked into his eyes imploringly.

            He stared for a moment, like he was trying to make up his mind. He almost looked scared. Finally he swallowed hard, the apple in his throat bobbing up and down, before he gave a slow nod of consent.

            She moved carefully, making sure she tried to touch around the markings, making sure she focused and kept her magic at bay. Sometimes when she was excited in bed it flared a bit, and she realized how horrible it would be to happen now. She didn’t want to accidentally pull his power, didn’t want to break his trust, so she took several deep meditative breaths. Once she was ready, she continued reaching toward him with her delicate fingers.

            She finally made contact with his smooth, white skin and she saw his eyelids flutter a bit before he closed his eyes and he let out a deep breath like he’d been holding it. She waited to see how he responded, but when he didn’t tell her to stop or act like he was in pain, she began to softly stroke his chest. She tried her best to keep her fingers away from his markings, but she accidentally brushed them and his arms tightened on her waist and he gave a sharp intake of breath. Immediately she pulled her fingers away with a hurried apology.

            “It’s – it’s all right,” he gasped. “I - it didn’t hurt.” He opened his eyes and looked up at her, a curious expression on his face. “Do it again.”

            She smiled a little and hesitantly brushed her fingers over the expanse of his chest again, letting them softly drag along the silver trails of lyrium. He closed his eyes and moaned a little.

            “I can’t remember…I can’t remember ever -” but he trailed off and didn’t finish the statement, even though she longed to hear him finish it.

            Instead of asking she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, keeping her fingers lightly tracing his chest. For a moment he just moaned and enjoyed her kiss, but then his arms wrapped around her and he lifted her with him as he stood. She tightened her thighs on either side of his hips and he knelt on the bed with one of his knees, dragging her back to the pillows.

            He laid her down and continued twisting his lips against hers as his hands moved to the front of the robe she’d been wearing. It was all she’d donned when she’d heard his pounding knock on the manor’s door. He pulled the front open and finally broke their kiss, staring down at her naked beneath him.

            “You’re beautiful, Marian,” he told her, an odd intensity in his voice. He lowered his face and buried it in between her breasts, rubbing his cheeks and mouth against their full roundness. He slid his tongue down the valley between them and she moaned; the sound seemed to encourage him, and he trailed it to one of her excited nipples. He swirled her hard peak and captured it with his mouth, the heat and wetness now present on her flesh making her cry out.

            How long had she wanted him to do that, to touch her and kiss her like this? She already felt so close, she was sure she was going to fall apart just from his careful, gentle explorations.

            She lightly brushed her fingers down his chest and stomach and reached for the lacings of his breeches. Something made her pause, and she waited to see if he would stop her. Instead he looked up and gave her a devilish grin. “Yes, Marian,” he said, his voice firm and encouraging. It was the most beautiful sound in all of Thedas.

            Her fingers were trembling slightly as she undid his breeches, and when she had them loose enough she began to slide them down his hips to free him. He sat back and helped until he was fully naked. As she watched him she sat up and pulled her shoulders out of her robe and threw it haphazardly over the other side of the bed. Her eyes moved greedily over his body, noting the trail of lyrium markings, his tight muscles, and then finally his rather substantial, thick length. He was excited, it was pointing eagerly at her, and she felt a throbbing intensify between her legs.

            “Fen, come here,” she begged, holding her arms out to him, trying to encourage him on top of her.

            He gave her a small smile as he stretched himself over her, taking his place between her legs as he resumed their eager kisses. His hands slid over her naked body, caressing her breasts and stroking her thighs before he finally slipped one between her legs. He wasn’t hesitant, instead he moved with purpose, his fingers spreading her excitement along her slit until he settled a finger on the pearl at the top.

            She gave a soft cry against his lips as he began stroking it, as he began working on exciting her. He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at her, his large green eyes watching her intently for a moment before he moved his hot breath and mouth to her neck, sucking softly at the column of her throat. His pointed ear was near her mouth and she reached out and traced the shell of it with her tongue. He gave a slight jerk and moaned her name. She smiled a little and repeated the gesture, and he growled a little and suddenly crushed his lips to hers once more.

            The passion in his kiss and the way he was swirling and stroking her pearl with his fingers was pushing her to the brink, and she whimpered softly against his mouth. The sound made him increase the movement of his fingers, and suddenly she felt it, her back arching and her hips bucking slightly against where he was touching her. He pulled away from the kiss and gave her a smile, then finally moved his hand to grasp his length and direct it to her opening.

            “Yes, yes, Fen,” she prompted eagerly without waiting for him to ask. He slid inside her, pushing past the small bit of resistance he met. She bit her lip and shifted her hips, trying to adjust to his size; she realized it had been since years and years before in Lothering, and it felt like a lifetime ago.

            “Marian, you’re – _fasta vass_ – you’re so tight,” he panted. He hadn’t started moving yet, his head was resting against the pillow beside her head, like he was trying to get his bearings.

            She wrapped her legs around his, her feet hooking around the back of his knees as her arms circled his neck. He moaned a little and braced himself above her as he began moving, and she pressed kisses to his ear and shoulder, sliding her tongue and teeth along any bit of his skin she could reach.

            Her careful attention with her mouth seemed to encourage him and he began moving faster, finally lifting his face and capturing her lips with his once more until she felt devoured. The hand that wasn’t bracing him above her slid over her body, grabbing her and caressing her where he could, his rough fingers leaving a trail of marks against her golden skin.

            She rolled and jerked her hips to respond to his thrusts, and soon he was moving faster, trying to go deeper as she answered his movements.

            “Marian, Marian, I’m – I can’t last,” he admitted, his voice harsh with need, harsh with desire and passion.

            She tilted her hips and slid a hand between them; all it took was a few strokes and she knew she was close. By the way his brow furrowed sharply, he knew it too. He kissed her once more, one hand grasping one of her breasts roughly as he found his release. He growled as he felt her tremble and cry out beneath him, clenching around him as she came with him.

            When they were both spent he collapsed on top of her, their sweaty bodies pressed against one another as they tried to catch their breath.

            “That was…Fen, I’ve wanted that for so long,” she murmured after several moments of the silence only being interrupted by the sound of their panting.

            “I have as well, Marian,” he confessed softly. He finally rolled from her and pulled her with him, until he was on his back and she was lying against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. She could feel his release running down her thighs, and closed her eyes as she smiled to herself.

            She had waited so long for this feeling…

 

            She didn’t remember falling asleep, but a noise by the side of the bed woke her up with a start. She rolled over and sat up, trying to determine its source. He was silhouetted by the fire, and he was putting on his armor.

            “Was it that awful?” she asked, trying to hide the apprehension she felt with her usual humor.

            She thought he had said he wanted this.

            But he was trying to leave, trying to sneak out while she was sleeping.

            He turned around to face her, pulling his last gauntlet on. “No, it’s not…I’m sorry. It – it was fine.”

            She raised an eyebrow at him, confused. _Fine?_

            “No, that is…insufficient,” he declared, looking frustrated with himself. “It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

            “But you’re...what's wrong?” she murmured.

            “I began to remember…my life before,” he began pacing, looking agitated. “Just flashes…It’s too much – this is too fast, I – I cannot do this.”

            Her stomach lurched.

            Her heart broke.

            But she tried to hide it, she tried to fight the tears welling in her eyes. She was Marian Hawke, and she wouldn’t let him see her cry.

            “So you’re leaving,” she said, her tone flat. It wasn’t a question.

            “I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool.” His voice cracked, like he was caught up in despair.

            Her heart ached for him, for her.

            She wished he could see that she wanted to help him. That she would do whatever it took.

            But right now, that meant letting him leave.

            “This should never have happened in the first place,” he muttered, the tone of his voice even lower, even more painful. “Forgive me.”

            He turned to leave, but something made her softly cry out, “wait!”

            He stopped but didn’t turn to face her. “Marian -”

            She bounded out of bed and ran to the small chest, the chest she never opened, the one that held the memories she didn’t want to confront.

            After just a moment of digging through its contents, she found it.

            She walked to him and reached for his wrist. He stared at her, confused, looking like he wanted to pull away and yet he didn’t. She gestured for him to hold his wrist up for her, and he did so, his brow furrowed as he watched her.

            With swift movements she tied the red scarf around his gauntlet, around his wrist, and tied it tightly so it wouldn’t come undone.

            “Fen, if you – if you still want me, want this,” she looked up into his eyes, still trying to fight the tears in her own. “I’m always here for you. Always.”

            His face looked stricken, she watched the apple in his throat bob up and down again as he swallowed hard, fighting the emotions he was feeling.

            He reached up with a knuckle and brushed the single tear that had escaped down her cheek.

            And then he turned and left the room.

            Left her.


	2. Handwriting

            She hadn’t meant to find it, hadn’t meant to see it. She had come by to see him, to make sure he was available for the situation at the Bone Pit. He’d left the room to go get part of his armor, and she saw it sitting on the desk.

            Varric and she had been teaching him to write as well as read, and she thought it must be part of his practice work. She wanted to see if he’d made improvements, if he could finally get the letters right, the lines smoother than the last time she’d seen them.

            He had.

            But she hadn’t expected to see how he was practicing his handwriting or spelling.

 

_Marian,_

_That night meant everything._

_When you kissed me, it was better than I had dreamt it could be._

_Better yet, I got to kiss you back._

_When I touched you, it was because I wanted to._

_When I asked you to touch me, it was because I wanted you to._

_When you touched me and it didn’t hurt, all I wanted was more._

_Because I wanted it._

_When I touched you, when I made you fall apart for me, it was because I wanted to do it._

_When I entered you, it was because I wanted you._

_When I finished within you, it was because I wanted to._

_I’m not sure I can ever express_

            The letter stopped.

            She heard his footsteps in the hall and quickly dropped the piece of parchment, hurrying away to stand by the fire.

            She smiled at him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It hadn’t reached her eyes since he had left, not for anything, not at anyone.

            She had lost her easy smile, her easy laugh.

            Only a few weeks had passed, and she was still waiting every night to see if he would come find her again, if he would come back. But he hadn’t.

            But he also hadn’t taken off the scarf. Nor had he taken off the Hawke family crest Bodahn had shown him as a joke, when he was over one day. He’d asked for it, had tied it to his belt. He wore them both, every day.

            He didn’t look at her, though, not as much as he used to. She thought sometimes he was looking her way, but when she raised her gaze she found him staring somewhere else.

            They’d stopped sharing wine bottles and reading together. When they were out together in the markets or the Storm Coast, they stood far apart. They didn’t walk beside each other.

            She couldn’t look at him without feeling an ache in her chest, a tightness that made her feel like her ribs were constricting, her breaths hard to take in. An emptiness existed in the pit of her belly, an emptiness in the very core of her being, an empty ache she knew only he could fill. Now that she had been had by him, now that they had shared that, she knew.

            No one else, ever again.

            He was the only one she wanted, the only one she dreamt of, the only one she longed for.

            And she’d had to let him walk away.

            As they left for the Bone Pit, she glanced at the desk at the letter lying there. She wondered if he would ever give it to her, ever send it to her, ever read it to her.

            He never did.


	3. Mourning

            She couldn’t see, but it wasn’t the tears swimming in her eyes. Nothing was worth focusing on, everything was blurry. She couldn’t stand this feeling, this ache. It was worse than she could ever imagine.

            Footsteps sounded from the doorway and she looked up.

            He was standing there.

            “I don’t know what to say, but…I am here,” he said. He was staring at her with pain evident in his eyes.

            She couldn’t tell if it was pain for himself, or for her.

            She didn’t know what to say either.

            Instead, she finally began to cry.

            Seeing him somehow made it real, it made it all right to feel, to mourn.

            She slumped before the fire, the stone cold against her knees as her whole body shook.

            He walked forward swiftly and knelt beside her. He hesitated only a moment before he put his arms around her, and pulled her head against his shoulder.

            She wasn’t sure how long she cried. She wasn’t sure anything existed beyond this pain, beyond this despair, and the feeling of his arms around her. He was stroking her golden curls, murmuring something in Tevene. She couldn’t even find the desire to ask what he was saying.

            The sound of his voice was soothing.

            The feeling of his fingers combing her hair was calming.

            Light as a feather, she felt him brush his lips against her forehead. She almost wondered if she’d imagined it.

            “Stay with me,” she choked out, her voice sounding terrified, vulnerable, almost like a child.

            “Yes, Marian,” he answered, like it was the easiest thing in Thedas, the easiest answer.

            He lifted her to her feet, he helped guide her to the bed. He worked on removing the clothes she was wearing, throwing them on the floor until she stood in her smallclothes. He pulled the sheets back and gently encouraged her into them before he stepped back and stripped the metal pieces of his armor off and set them at the foot of the bed. He slid into the sheets behind her and pulled her to him.

            “I’m so sorry,” he finally murmured.

            She cried all night.

            All night he held her, still speaking in Tevene occasionally, stroking her curls.

            In the morning when she finally fell into a restless sleep, he slid out of the bed without waking her.

            He left.


	4. Shared

            “Thank you,” she murmured.

            She hadn’t meant to sound so desperate when she said it. But she knew it needed to be said. She knew she needed to thank him for comforting her that night, for being there for her. Even, or rather especially, after what had happened between them previously.

            “I -” he hesitated. “Of course.”

            “Could you – could you read to me?” she asked, her voice low, tentative.

            “Yes, I could,” he answered slowly.

            He picked one of the books from the shelf, one he had read before. She knew it was so he didn’t stumble over the words, so that he didn’t stutter and struggle in front of her. She was a little sad that he did, that she wouldn’t get to watch him improve.

            She didn’t complain, though, and instead sat on the sofa beside him, her legs curled up under her as she watched him.

            He opened the book carefully, he turned the pages so studiously, before he settled on the page he was looking for.

            It was a book of poems, she realized suddenly. She smiled softly as she listened to his voice, his smooth rhythm as he followed the cadence of the lines, as he echoed their rhymes. The sound soothed her aching soul, her aching heart.

            He eventually leaned back further on the sofa, near her. She resisted the urge to touch his ear, to use her finger to trace its pointy length, to hear him make the noise that was burned into her memory from that night.

            Instead she just watched him, listened to him, and enjoyed that he was near her again.

            He paused after a bit and set the book aside.

            “Are you all right?” she asked.

            “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, and he marked his place in the book before he stood and left the room.

            When he came back, he had a bottle of wine.

            “I was thirsty, I apologize,” he explained, and with a small smile he took a drink from the bottle.

            He held it out to her, and she took it from him.

            She placed her lips on it and drank, and he stood watching her.

            When she lowered the bottle, their eyes locked. A look of understanding passed between them.

            He resumed his place on the sofa and picked the poems up, beginning to read once more. They passed the bottle between them, drinking deeply from the same spot each time.

            After that night, he read to her more frequently, always over a bottle of wine.

            He was getting much better.


	5. Unrequited

            Anders was standing in the foyer, looking around. She felt certain she saw him stuffing a copy of his manifesto into the chair beside him, and rolled her eyes a little.

            “Marian,” he greeted her when he saw her walk down the stairs. He was smiling widely, eagerly watching her approach him. She tried to hide the frown when he said her given name, which had become his new habit when they were alone.

            “Anders, what can I do for you? Is everything all right?”

            “Can I not come see you just because?” he asked with a deep frown, like he was hurt.

            “No, of course you can – I’m sorry, I thought maybe something had happened at the clinic, or with the Templars,” she stopped before him and folded her arms.

            “May we speak alone?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at where Bodahn stood cleaning.

            She nodded and turned to lead the way into the library. He halted by the stairs up to her room. “Do you – could we -”

            She turned to look at him, frowning and confused.

            “Never mind,” he followed her into the library.

            “What’s on your mind?” she asked, turning to lean on the table as she watched him.

            He walked toward her. She noticed he’d closed the door. “Marian,” he murmured. “I – I can’t stop…I can’t stop thinking about you.”

            She raised her eyebrows. She had suspected as much, she had wondered if he did. She wasn’t sure what to think and simply stood still, watching him come closer.

            “Justice is upset about what he calls my obsession with you,” he said, sounding like he was trying to tease. He was standing so close now he barely had to reach out to touch her as he pushed a curl behind her ear. “Is there any chance – could you, I mean, do you care for me?”

            She stared. She thought, she tried to wrack her brain for reasons, tried to discern her feelings.

            Honestly, she couldn’t tell. She almost thought she couldn’t feel ever again. She’d lost too much in life now, and she felt like an empty shell.

            It had been two years, but still all she thought about was _him_.

            He still wore that scarf. He still wore that crest. They were reading and drinking wine together again, they were talking like they used to. They were still fighting over mages and Templars, which happened more frequently now as Kirkwall began to deteriorate even further around them.

            But he hadn’t tried, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made any move to reconcile.

            She was beginning to wonder if he ever would, or if she would be stuck waiting for him forever. She still ached, every time she thought of him. Every time she remembered. Every time she was near him.

            Anders was leaning closer. “Marian, please, tell me – tell me you want me.”

            She couldn’t think of anything to say. All she knew was she was stuck in limbo, hesitant, unwilling and unable to move on, even though she thought it may be the best course of action for her.

            Anders seemed to be taking her indecisive silence as encouragement to try to persuade her to answer.

            He leaned forward, he pressed his lips to hers, softly. “Marian, I…I care so much for you. I have, since you walked into my clinic, all those years ago.”

            He had his hands on her waist, he pressed his lips to hers again. And again. He finally let them linger instead of giving fleeting pressure. He flexed his mouth against hers, he tilted his head and twisted his lips, his hands coming up to her cheeks as he tried to slide his tongue to part her lips. She let him, trying to determine how she felt.

            He was tender. He was passionate. He cared for her.

            And she realized how she felt.

            She felt nothing.

            He was desperately sliding his tongue against hers, as though trying to taste her, trying to evoke a reaction from her, to draw out her own gentle confession.

            She pushed lightly against his chest.

            “No, Anders,” she finally answered. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

            Pain was evident on every part of his face.

            “I – I’m sorry, I…I’ll leave,” he almost stumbled back from her, hanging his head and hurrying out of the library.

            She felt miserable.

            Her mind conjured another kiss, another declaration of desire.

            Her whole body ached, the pit of her stomach felt empty.

            Her chest tightened until she felt her breaths strain.

            Over two years and she couldn’t move on.

            Over two years and she could remember his touch like it was yesterday.

            Over two years and she could remember his taste, his smell.

            Over two years and she was still in love with him, doomed to empty, painful heart ache.


	6. Closure

            “Why did you take me into the Fade?” he demanded. “We should have hunted the boy’s body down and killed him.”

            “If you didn’t want to come, you should have said so,” she argued, angry that he could even suggest that to her.

            “I was willing to stand by your side,” he declared, his tone firm.

            She felt emotion catch in her throat. She wanted him to mean it. She wanted him to declare something else, something more. She wanted him to say he always wanted to be by her side.

            Instead he continued to argue.

            “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he continued. “You are strong, Hawke, but not all mages are like you. I simply hope we don’t all regret the day you learn how true that is.”

            “Is this why you came here?” she demanded, angry. “You came here to lecture me, to tell me again that mages are all horrible, terrible, _evil_? Is that still how you see me?”

            He hesitated, his face in a painful frown. “ _Venhedis_! _Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus_!” he rattled off in Tevene, throwing his hands in the air. “I came here to apologize, not argue with you about the dangers of magic.”

            “Didn’t you? You barely apologized. Instead you demanded that I apologize, even after what you did in the Fade” she cried, frustrated.

            “I – I came here to – to,” he sighed, equally frustrated. “I meant to apologize. And to…ask for your help.”

            “My help?”

            “I found my sister,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana’s information. Everything she said was true.”

            “Fen, I -” She was speechless.

            “She’s here,” he said quietly. “Come with me, Hawke. I need you there with me when I meet her.”

            It didn’t even take her a full heartbeat to answer.

            “Of course.”

 

 

            “Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone,” she gritted out, white hot rage searing through her. She could already feel the flames crackling between her fingers.

            She would defend him from his former master with her life, if that was what it took.

            He looked at her. She saw the meaningful look in his eyes.

            The way he had looked at her that night.

            They stared at each other, for only half a moment.

            But that half a moment said everything. 

 

 

            She watched him kill Denarius. She found herself glad.

            She hoped that with this, at least, he would get some closure.

            That maybe at least he could move on from this.      

            She didn’t let him kill his sister, she begged him to see that the poor woman was just as scared, just as traumatized as he was.

            “I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong,” he said softly, and she could hear the pain in his voice. “Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim.”

            She tried to step closer to him.

            “I am alone,” he said, just as painfully. Her heart ached.

            “I’m here, Fenris,” she murmured, stepping closer.

            He looked at her, a soft look coming into his eyes.

            Like how he looked at her that night.

            He reached up and stroked her cheek with his hand. He held her gaze, loving and tender. Her heart skipped a beat.

            He frowned again, upset, and stepped away from her to look back at Denarius’ body.

            “I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul,” he whispered. “And now this…Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”

            He took her hand, and led her from the tavern.


	7. I Am Yours

            She walked quickly across Hightown, traveling the short distance between their manors. She had waited a day, had wanted to give him space.

            She could still feel his hand on her cheek, his fingers holding her own as they left the tavern.

            She had to know. She had to ask. She had to tell him.

            She was done waiting.

            She was a woman of action, and it was past damn time to act like it.

            He was pacing the room, and looked angry, irritated when he saw her.

            “ _Venhedis!_ _Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus!”_ he exclaimed again. She frowned, opened her mouth. “It means you will be the death of me, dea -” he stopped, like he didn’t explain the last word.

            She didn’t budge, even though he was getting more agitated with his pacing.

            “Six years ago I decided to stay with you, in part because I owed you. But I also thought you could help me,” he growled out. “And you did. Hadriana is dead. Denarius is dead. I am finally free.”

            She wanted to smile, but the look in his eyes discouraged her.

            “But none of it tastes like it should. This freedom tastes like ashes,” he clenched his fists.

            “Has something happened?” she finally asked, confused by his outburst. She had thought he would be happier, that he would feel more at ease now that Denarius was gone.

            “No…” He sighed and turned away from her. “You are not responsible for my misery…Why am I angry at you?” He turned to look at her, confused. He finally sank onto the sofa, and she sat beside him, as close as she dared.

            “I thought finding Varania would open up a new world, one that was lost forever. But it’s gone and I can’t get it back,” he looked over at her. His brow was furrowed slightly. “What do I do now, Hawke?”

            She raised her eyebrows, surprised. She knew her answer, she knew what she really wanted to suggest.

            “It’s not up to me, Fen,” she said softly. “You can do whatever you like, now.”

            “Like it’s that easy?” he asked, scowling.

            “You don’t have to go through this alone,” she leaned forward, scooting just a fraction closer.

            “Don’t I?” He looked at her, contemplating. He looked like he was taking a deep breath, steadying himself. “We…never discussed what happened between us three years ago.”

            Her heart was racing.

            “You…acted like you didn’t want to talk about it,” she murmured.

            “I felt like a fool. I thought you hated me – I deserved no less,” he answered. But he was watching her intently, curiously, and he frowned a little.

            He turned to face her on the sofa, he pulled himself closer to her, holding her gaze as he did so.

            “But it isn’t better. That night – I remember your touch as if it were yesterday,” his voice was hoarse. It sent shivers down her spine.

            “Fen, I –”

            “I should have asked for forgiveness long ago,” he murmured. “I hope you can forgive me now.”

            He was sitting so close. She could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

            “Why did you leave, Fen?” she asked, unable to help herself.

            He sighed and looked down. “I’ve thought about the answer a thousand times. The pain, the memories it brought up…it was too much. I was a coward,” he raised his gaze to hers again, his eyes holding the same intensity he had that night. “If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt.”

            “What would you have said?” Her heart was racing even faster.

            His hand was resting beside her shoulders on the back of the sofa, they were facing each other, and the passion in his gaze made it so that she couldn’t look away if she wanted to. She felt hot, her whole body trembling.

            “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you,” he declared, his voice crackling with emotion.

            She felt a lump in her throat, her eyes stung.

            “There’s nothing to forgive,” she told him, her voice barely coming out in a whisper.

            “If there is a future to be had, I will gladly walk into it at your side,” he murmured, and he brought a hand up to stroke her cheek.

            Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

            She absorbed his words.

            The ache in her chest disappeared. Instead, she felt full to bursting, joy sweeping through her.

            She opened her eyes and saw that his face was even closer, he was watching her for her reaction.

            At the same moment, they reached for each other.

            Their lips crushed against one another, their teeth clicked in their haste. Their mouths slanted and their tongues took up a sloppy, rushed dance as they tasted each other once more.

            He pulled her back with him, into his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

            As he had that night, he fumbled with his gloves behind them, yanking them off and throwing them to the floor. They clattered against the stone before the fireplace, and he reached up to twist his hands in her hair.

            She worked on the fastenings of his armor, moving as quickly as she could in her impatience. She got him out of his vest so she could see him, so she could touch him once more.

            He ran his tongue down her neck, holding her head back to bare it to him with his hands in her hair, her golden curls spilling down her back.

            “Marian,” he whispered against her skin. “Marian, please – touch me.”

            She smiled softly and ran her fingers across his chest, the same gentle way she had before. He made the noise that had made her shiver, that had plagued her dreams for three years. His own sound of approval – somewhere between a growl and a moan.

            “Fen, I love you,” she murmured.

            He reached up with a hand and grabbed her jaw, holding it tightly as he made her look at him. His eyes were searching her face, greedily, hungrily.

            “Say it again,” he growled.

            “I love you,” she repeated.

            He stared at her for a moment, the same greed evident in his eyes as he absorbed her words.

            “I love you,” he answered, his voice vibrating with his passion. “I am yours.”

            She gave a soft sob as he began to pull her out of her clothes.

            He freed her breasts and buried his face between them. One hand was splayed on her back to hold her to him, the other palmed one of her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipple as he dragged his hot mouth over her skin.

            She groaned and gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in to his muscles as he swirled his tongue over her nipple. She reached down to his breeches, determined to get him out of them. She couldn’t wait. She had ached for him for three years, had felt empty without him.

            He began to work on her laces as well, showing the same eagerness she was. They shifted, they slid out of their breeches – he didn’t even bother pushing his past his knees.

            He gripped her hips tightly and guided her, pulling her to his hard length and covering it with her in one stroke.

            She cried out at the sensation, the ache in her belly disappearing now that he was inside her once more. He leaned his head back on the sofa, his eyes shut for a moment as he enjoyed the sensation as well.

            After a long moment he tightened his hold on her hips and encouraged her to begin moving. She started thrusting, taking him in and out of her with a cry each time she took him to the hilt. She rolled her hips as she moved, her stomach undulating against his as they held each other tight.

            She was already at the edge. She had longed for this, the longing worse than it had been before the night they had spent together. The sense of fulfillment, the feeling of being back in his arms, of him inside her – she was nearly there, just from that feeling.

            He slid his mouth down her neck, he sucked and bit whatever skin was closest to his mouth. One hand slid up into her hair, twisting in her golden curls.

            “Marian – say it again,” he moaned.

            “I love you,” she whimpered. “Fen – I’m going to – say it, say it, please.”

            “I am yours,” he answered. “I love you.”

            She fell apart, she felt him jerk her hips down and his hot release filled her.

            They slowed finally, and he wrapped his arms around her back and held her to him, his face buried in the bend of her neck.

            Three years of pain, erased in a single moment, by a single phrase.

            She knew she would never tire of hearing it.


	8. Amatus

            “ _Amatus_ ,” he moaned, “ _amatus,_ I am yours, I love you.”

            He pressed kisses to her belly, his hands were sliding up her sides, he teased her navel with his tongue and she shivered.

            “Fen – what does _amatus_ mean?” she whispered, breathless under his touch and his kisses.

            “‘Dearest one,’” he answered. “You are my dearest one, dearest to my heart…Marian, Marian – my _amatus_.”

            She felt something stir within her, felt her skin prickle with bumps at the sound of him saying the word. “ _Amatus_ ,” she repeated.

            His hands tightened on her when she said it. His mouth sucked a little harder at the bit of flesh he was kissing on her tight stomach.

            “ _Amatus_ , stay with me, always,” she murmured.

            “Always, Marian,” he continued his trail lower. “I am yours.”

            His tongue touched her and she cried out. He was eager, he seemed like he was exploring her, like he was acting out some fantasy he’d had, some desire he’d suppressed for too long. His fingers and his hot mouth moved along her slit, exciting her until she was sobbing, her whole body shaking as he watched her fall apart.

            He stretched himself over her. “I wanted to do that,” he murmured, and she wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear him.

            She remembered the letter she’d seen, the handwriting practice she wasn’t supposed to see.

            He did it because he wanted to.

            Because it was his choice.

            She slid her fingers along his shaft, she let herself explore him. His eyes fluttered shut, he gave a guttural moan of approval.

            “Keep touching me, please – no one… _amatus_ , yes,” he groaned.

            She felt a bead of excitement escape the tip, and she swirled it over his skin with her thumb.

            “ _Fasta vass, amatus_ ,” he growled, and he spread her legs and settled himself between them. He slid into her in one fluid motion and she gave a soft cry.

            He was fast, hard, almost desperate. She whimpered, she responded with her own eager desperation. He gripped the headboard above them with one hand to steady himself as she wrapped her legs more tightly around his hips. She brushed her fingers down his chest and his markings suddenly glowed.

            “ _Venhedis_!” he growled and she immediately removed her hands, terror coming across her.

            “Fen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean – I don’t know what I did,” she cried, but he stared down at her for a moment.

            He was scowling, and yet he didn’t stop moving against her.

            “Touch me again, _amatus_ ,” he directed her, his voice edgy, harsh with desire.

            She hesitantly raised her fingers to his chest and brushed him with them. She tried to avoid his markings, tried to brush his skin without touching them at all.

            “Touch all of me, please, Marian.”

            She took a deep breath and ran her hands over his chest, over his markings.

            He closed his eyes and moaned, then picked up his pace.

            She kept caressing him, kept touching him while he thrust into her, his eyes closed in his pleasure, his brow furrowed. She watched his face, feeling excited to new heights just watching him enjoy himself, enjoy her. He moved a finger to her and touched her, and after only a few moments she came undone, not realizing how close she had been. He gave a growl and finished as well, his marks glowing for a breath of a moment beneath her touch as he did.

            He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.

            “Fen, was I hurting you?” she panted, trying to regain her senses.

            “I…don’t know how to explain it,” he answered slowly. “Somehow, when you touch me,  _amatus_ – it doesn’t feel like pain.”


	9. Stares

            They walked through the Hightown markets, holding hands as they looked at the vendors’ stalls. They laughed together, they bought and sampled some fruit.

            She felt the stares, and she didn’t care.

            She heard the whispers.

            _The Champion? With an elf?_

_What are those markings?_

_Is he her servant? He looks like a slave._

_Look how brazen she is, holding hands with her elven lover for everyone to see._

_Whore._

_Knife-eared lover._

She held her head high, she interlaced her fingers with his.

            She could see him flushing, saw his ears redden.

            She pulled him by the hand, still smiling, still ignoring the whispers, the stares.

            She took him back to her manor, she walked in the front door with him like she didn’t care who saw them together.

            She didn’t.

            They walked to her library and she asked him to read to her, hoping maybe it would calm him.

            He still looked irritated, still bothered by the whispers and stares.

            She ran her hand through his hair, she traced the shell of his ear with her tongue and he moaned.

            “ _Amatus_ , I love you,” she whispered.

            He threw the book beside him and tackled her, pushing her down on the sofa, holding her hands above her head.

            “Even if they think you’re some knife-eared slave’s whore?” he asked, and she could hear the tug in his voice as he said it.

            “I don’t care what anyone says, Fen,” she murmured. “I am yours.”

            He undid the laces on her breeches, desperate. She did the same on his, both fumbling until they were free. He slid inside her easily, taking possession of her quickly as she draped one leg over the back of the sofa, the other foot resting on the floor.

            “Yesssss, Fen,” she moaned.

            He tried to push her top up, not bothering to undo it, just forcing his hand up it to grasp one of her breasts. “ _Amatus_ ,” he groaned, thrusting into her roughly as he growled in appreciation.

            She whimpered, crying out softly as he continued moving against her with eager desperation, eager to claim her, to make sure she knew she was his. She was close; she arched her back to let him know. Soon, she was going to soon – she bucked her hips against his faster, trying to meet his frantic rhythm.

            “Andraste’s tits! What the -”

            He stopped and looked up, she strained her neck to glance above her head, thoroughly frustrated that she had just been about to finish.

            Varric was standing in the doorway, slack-jawed at the sight of them.

            “Don’t you two know how to lock a door?” the dwarf demanded as he clapped a hand over his eyes.

            “Don’t you know how to knock?” Fenris returned.

            “Varric, we’re busy, come back later,” she panted.

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s the plan,” Varric grumbled and he hurriedly left the room, shutting the door behind him.

            For a moment they stared at each other, and then burst out laughing.

            His smile, his genuine laughter, was pure bliss.

            He didn’t worry ever again about whether or not she was ashamed of him.


	10. Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some 'Eye of the Storm' Cullen backstory.
> 
> xx,  
> L

            “This isn’t – Marian, this is madness,” he growled.

            “Fen, please – please help me,” she begged.

            He stared at her for a moment. “I am at your side, I will – I will help you. I will follow you wherever you lead.”

            She gave him a watery, terrified smile.

            They would be lucky if they survived the day.

            Chaos reigned around them, and all she wanted was to grab his hand and run away from it all.

            Instead, she readied her staff, she concentrated on the feeling of fire at her fingertips. She led the way, trying to make it to the docks, to the Gallows.

 

           

            “I…may not get the chance to say this to you again,” he said, looking at her with intense emotion in his large green eyes. “Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Marian. Promise me you won’t die. I can’t bear the thought of living without you, _amatus_.”

            He stepped forward, he held her cheeks in his hands. He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes imploring her to heed his words.

            “I promise, Fen,” she murmured.

            He pulled her face to his, he twisted his lips against hers in a desperate kiss. They were kissing each other like it was the last time, like it was the only way they could show each other how much they cared.

            It could be the last time.

            She clung to him with as much fear as he was holding her with.

            They would be lucky if they survived the day.

 

 

            Meredith lifted her huge armored fist. She had moved faster than Marian had expected, had gotten too close, and now she felt her energy flag. She wouldn’t be able to summon a barrier in time, she wouldn’t be able to move away. She wasn’t sure she would survive the strike; at the very least she would be rendered unconscious.

            Her luck had run out, she thought, as the gauntleted fist got ready to come down on her face.

            She felt someone push her aside, taking her place beneath the blow.

            Cullen’s mouth and cheek bore the brunt of the strike. His lips were covered in blood. He had a huge gash, a long tear where the spikes of Meredith’s gauntlet had made contact with his skin.

            He staggered, he bellowed, he turned a pain-filled glower to his former Knight-Commander. He raised his sword and swung it at her, still keeping himself between Meredith and Marian as he did so.

            She backed away, she retreated to a safe distance.

            He had saved her. The insufferable ass had actually saved her life.

            Fenris charged forward, taking his place beside Cullen, and they fought off Meredith together. Marian felt her energy return and she concentrated, feeling flames at her fingers again.

 

 

            Cullen was trying to wipe the blood away, he was looking at the destroyed courtyard, the remnants of statues, the red lyrium figure that was once Meredith.

            He looked in shock, completely despondent.

            Marian approached, studying the wound on his lip.

            “Let me heal that -” she began, lifting her hand and summoning the green glow of healing magic, but he pulled away from her.

            His eyes looked wild, he looked terrified as he backed away from her. “No, no – don’t – no magic,” he gasped.

            She felt fury consume her. She had been trying to show him her gratitude, to help him in exchange for helping her, for saving her.

            “Fine! Go fuck yourself for all I care, Cullen,” she yelled, and she turned away and marched off.

            Even after all of that, after seeing what Meredith had become, he was still an insufferable ass.

            She turned to look back, looking for Fenris.

            He was standing beside Cullen, saying something, his face solemn. The Templar frowned, and then his eyes widened. Fenris held his hand out, Cullen took it hesitantly. They shook hands for a brief moment, understanding passing between them.

            Fenris released his hand and walked swiftly to join Marian.

            “We should be going,” he murmured, and they hurried away.

            They fled.


	11. Together

            “Where should we go?” he asked her.

            “Anywhere. We can go anywhere,” she replied, enjoying the feeling of him running his fingers through her hair. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

            “We could make money as mercenaries,” he suggested, working at a tangle in the curls. She smiled. It was probably knotted from a few minutes before, from the way he had rolled her around on the bed, the way his hands had twisted in her hair as they always did. “Or we could track down slavers. Take a percentage of their profits we collect off their dead bodies, give the rest to the people they were trying to enslave.”

            “Either of those works for me,” she agreed softly. “So long as you’re with me.”

            “Have you heard from Varric?”

            “There’s a Seeker in Kirkwall looking for me,” she murmured. “But no Exalted March. He told them he doesn’t know where we are.”

            “We’ll be moving again soon, so that’s not exactly a lie,” he chuckled.

 

 

            After a year, they were settled. They found a small house, outside a village where no one seemed to care about the golden woman who resembled the tales of the Champion, nor did they care about the silver-marked elf who introduced himself as her husband.

            Villagers sometimes came to visit their home, asking her for help with healing, with magic and potions, and paid her for her services. Fenris made money clearing out bandits, helping get rid of wolves or bears around farms. The villagers were more than willing to deny knowing her if anyone came looking, content that the village had their own protectors in the midst of the confusion of the Mage Templar War.

            They kept a small herb garden. They had chickens and a goat. When he came home in the evening after helping the villagers, he took off his armor and sat before the fire with her to read. They still shared a bottle of wine, and didn’t even own any goblets; they still preferred to drink from the same spot.

            They stayed up late into the night, making love in their shared bed, exploring each other to their hearts’ content. Some nights she would hold him to her chest after he’d fallen asleep, stroking his hair and enjoying the calm sound of him breathing.

            It had all been worth it. And this exile didn’t even feel like exile, with him there. It felt like pure joy, like a shared life. It felt like a happy ending.

            It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing, so long as they were together.

 

 

            “What if we actually got married?” he asked one night as they lay in bed together, holding each other tight after their lovemaking.

            She smiled. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I feel so married to you I never realized that we aren’t, actually.”

            They laughed.

            “I mean it, _amatus_ ,” he murmured after a moment. “Marry me. Be my wife.”

            She felt tears come to her eyes. “Yes, Fen, of course I will. I am yours.”

            He kissed her, rolled over on to her and took his place between her legs. “I am yours,” he whispered against her lips as he slid within her once more.

            They were together, that was all that mattered.

           

           

            The Revered Mother was smiling at them, chuckling ever so softly. “I thought you two were already married,” she mused.

            “We just haven’t made it official,” Marian shrugged.

            “When would you -”

            “Does right now work?” Fenris interrupted.

            The Revered Mother looked surprised, but then smiled again. “Of course. I mean, do you not have anyone you wish to be here?”

            “Just the two of us. That’s all we need.”

 

 

            _Varric,_

_Fen and I got married. I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, but we’ll celebrate the next time we see you._

_You’d like this little village, it’s quaint. The people are nice. They let Fen help them in their fields, he’s helped clear out bandits and made it safer to live, and I’ve been assisting the healer. It’s a nice life._

_I’m glad you’re all right, after the Conclave. Your last letter has me worried though – you sound positively devout, now. Are you sure you’re still the same Varric I knew in Kirkwall?_

_I’m interested to hear more about this Herald. You said she’s very young – do you think she can handle this? It’s got to be a lot of responsibility. If she’s as important as you say, keep an eye on her. I remember how hard that is, having so many rely on you, holding you in such high regards as their savior. Don’t let it get to her, if Thedas needs her as much as you seem to think it does._

_You’d be so surprised to see us now. I wish you could come visit. We’re positively domestic. I have chickens, Varric. Chickens._

_But we’re happy._

_Thank you for keeping our whereabouts secret. You have no idea how grateful I am, having this chance to just live, to enjoy some happiness for a change._

_I’ll find a way to pay you back._

_Marian_

            “Marian, are you all right?” he asked as he held her hair back, worry evident in the tone of his voice.

            She was retching into the chamber pot. That was the second time that morning. But Maker, the smell of the eggs he was cooking had been too much for her.

            She sat back and wiped her mouth, and sudden realization came upon her.

            Her breeches had felt a bit snugger. She’d been smelling things she hadn’t noticed before. And recently, every time he touched her breasts they had been so sensitive she’d cried out in pain when he tried to caress her.

            When was the last time she’d bled? She hadn’t noticed, too content that their lovemaking hadn’t been interrupted by her monthly flow that the time had passed, and she hadn’t noticed it hadn’t come when it should have.

            “Fen…” she said slowly, raising her gaze to his. She saw that his brows were furrowed, she could tell he was incredibly concerned as he looked over her face. “Fen, I think – I think I’m with child.”

            His large eyes got wider, for a long moment he could do nothing but stare at her. He shifted where he knelt beside her, and placed a hand over the lower part of her belly. “You’re – we’re…you really think so?”

            She placed her hand over his. “Yes, I think so. I’m almost positive, but I can go ask the healer.”

            “I’ll go with you, I want to be there, I want to -” he stood quickly and helped her to her feet. He had an anxious energy in his movements. The corners of his mouth were tugging up slightly even though his brow was furrowed. He looked torn between shock and joy.

            He helped her into her cloak before he got into his own, and they walked to the village. He kept shooting glances her way as they walked hand in hand, and she caught him looking down at her belly. He looked like he wanted to place his hands on it again.

            She undid her breeches and slid them down a little so the healer could feel her belly. The older woman was humming as she did so, focusing on what she was doing, the funny way she was using magic to figure it out.

            “Oh, definitely,” the healer suddenly laughed. “Yes, yes – you’re with child. Congratulations.”

            Fenris squeezed her hand tightly, a funny look coming across his face.

            “Fen?” she asked softly, not sure if she should be concerned.

            “We’re going to have a family,” he murmured, and he met her gaze.

            His large green eyes were swimming with tears.


	12. The Champion, the Inquisitor, & the Commander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a companion piece to Eye of the Storm. Angsty but I put it all into one chapter - it'll be short lived, I promise.
> 
> xx,  
> L

            Her heart was breaking to do it.

            She sat staring down at the letter, fear and anger rushing through her.

            Corypheus was still alive. He was responsible for the hole in the sky, for the Conclave being destroyed, for the mess Thedas was in.

            It was her responsibility. She thought she’d killed him.

            But she was pregnant. She was married. Fen would die trying to protect his family, he’d throw himself into everything too wildly. She couldn’t take him. She had to protect him. Even if he never forgave her for what she was going to do.

            She was doing it for him, though, and for their unborn child. She had to do it to protect them, to provide for them. She needed there to be a Thedas for them to raise their family in.

            If he was still alive, that was all that mattered.

            She’d hidden her pack under the bed and tucked the map in the folds of her cloak, which was hanging by the door. He came back in from collecting eggs and set to work making breakfast. She watched him work in the kitchen, loving the sight of him doing such normal things. He was getting much better at cooking.

            They ate in quiet contentment, and he occasionally reached over and brushed a curl behind her ear and then placed his palm on her lower belly. He smiled every time he thought about it. He’d been hesitant to make love to her the night before as if scared he could hurt her or the babe, but she’d insisted. She knew what was coming, and she refused to leave without feeling him within her one last time.

            He put his armor on and grabbed his cloak.

            “Fen,” she said, and walked over to where he stood at the door. “I love you.”

            He quirked a brow at her. “I love you, _amatus_.”

            “I am yours, you know that right?”

            He stared at her for a moment. “Yes, Marian. And I am yours.” He frowned and faced her head on. “Is everything all right?”

            She gave a small laugh. “I think it’s the babe, it’s making me emotional.”

            He chuckled. “I see. Well, I’ll be home this evening.”

            He gave her a brief, tender kiss.

            She nodded, but didn’t speak.

            He would be home this evening.

            She wouldn’t be.

            She stood in the doorway, watching him leave down the road from their small cottage.

            When he’d disappeared from sight, she went to get her pack from under the bed and donned her cloak. She pulled the letter she’d written him from her pack and stared at it for a moment.

            A tear fell on the parchment, but she shook herself and set it on the table, where he would find it easily.

            She headed out, closing the door of their home behind her, unsure if she would be back.

 

 

            Even traveling by horse, she moved slowly. She was concerned, riding horseback while with child. She’d asked the healer, she’d made sure she was fit for travel. Still, she couldn’t help but worry.

            She had to stop occasionally, suddenly sick and having to stop to retch on the side of the road. Besides her slow pace, however, the journey was uneventful.

            She followed the map Varric had sent her, and after a lengthy journey she finally saw the large fortress, Skyhold, ahead of her.

 

 

            “Sparkles – er, Inquisitor, I’d like for you to meet Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric introduced her, and she shook her head as she turned around.

            “You know, I don’t really call myself that anymore,” she told him.

            The Inquisitor had gasped, a little surprised to see Hawke standing before her.

            Marian looked her over, feeling a little surprised as well. Varric had told her the Herald was young, that she was only twenty. But she looked almost like a child compared to Hawke. _Maker, what a responsibility_ , Marian mused to herself.

            Her name was Evelyn, Varric had said, a young noble mage from the Circle at Ostwick. She was quite petite, at least a head shorter than Marian was. She had long black hair, pulled into a braid that went all the way down her back. Her face was graceful, angular, with full lips and large, almond-shaped eyes – eyes that were a truly peculiar, unnerving color. They were almost white, translucent, with hints of aqua and pale green depending on the light. They had a thick ring of deep blue around them, and they seemed to almost spark with curious wonder as she looked Marian over in turn. Marian had never met a mage who favored one school of magic over the others so much, but she’d heard stories about them, the way their eyes were a reflection of their raw power.

            She suddenly understood how fitting Varric calling her “Sparkles” was.

            “Inquisitor, is it?” she finally asked. “You’re right, Varric, she is quite young.”

            Evelyn shot Varric a glare; she seemed embarrassed, and a flush came across her pale cheeks.

            Varric shrugged. “It’s true, Sparkles, you’re practically a baby.”

            The younger woman looked indignant, and tried to raise her chin a little. She wanted to be taken seriously, Marian could tell.

            So she decided to treat her seriously, and told her about Corypheus.

 

 

            “Maker, Varric, you weren’t kidding,” Marian mused. “She looks like some young maiden, like she hasn’t reached adulthood yet.”

            “She looks like you when you first came to Kirkwall,” Varric pointed out.

            “I didn’t look that young, did I?”

            He chuckled. “Yes, you did.”

            Marian shook her head and looked over the courtyard. She watched as the Inquisitor walked away from her, and approached – her eyebrows raised in surprise when she saw him – Cullen.

            She watched as the former Templar looked up and eagerly spoke to her, how close he was standing, the way he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him when she turned to walk away. He was saying something to her, something intense, his face full of pained emotion. Evelyn looked quite stricken by what he said, like she wanted to cry, like she wanted to smile, one of her hands resting on his arm as she stared up at him.

            It made Marian wonder.

            “So, how’s married life?” Varric asked.

            She laughed lightly. “Actually, I have something to tell you. I, ah – I’m pregnant.”

            She looked over to see his reaction, expecting him to laugh and pat her on the back.

            Instead, he looked terrified, petrified in place as he stared slack-jawed at her.

            “Andraste’s tits, Hawke!” he suddenly cried. “Damn you – you should have told me, you should have – Fenris is going to kill me.”

            “Varric, I only just found out -”

            “No, you shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have asked you here,” her friend muttered, and he buried his face in his hands and swore under his breath.

            “Don’t tell anyone, all right? I don’t want anyone treating me like a delicate flower, or looking at me like you are right now,” she frowned at him. He was peering at her through his fingers, looking ready to throttle her, ready to keep yelling.

            “I shouldn’t have written to you,” he grumbled. “Broody is going to murder me.”

            “He doesn’t know where I am,” she confessed softly.

            “Do you hate me or something?” he spat. “Do you _want_ your husband to come murder me here? You realize he’ll come after you.”

            “Like I said, he doesn’t know -”

            “Oh please,” he scoffed.

 

 

            The Inquisitor had finally joined her in the Western Approach. Marian watched as she set up her tent, and tried to make small talk. Evelyn seemed guarded, unsure of herself, like she was trying to be as laidback and confident as the Champion, but couldn’t be.

            It was oddly endearing.

            She asked Marian about who she had been traveling with since Kirkwall, and when she asked if it was Anders, she couldn’t help but laugh and correct the poor young Inquisitor.

            “I think that was the way Anders may have seen things, but no. I’ve been with Fenris, since the beginning.”

            “Since the beginning?”

            Marian looked at the other woman for a moment, contemplating. She wasn’t sure how she could describe it. She thought about the early days, the times when they had fought so much about mages, yet still sought out each other’s company. The way she wanted to see him, even though his broodiness and views on magic irritated her. The intense desire she found in herself to try to get him to see her as a woman, as a person, and not just a mage. The urge to kiss him and hold him every chance she got, even when they were disagreeing.

            “Anders tried, I think he was in love with me – he cared, certainly. And the tragic romantic that Varric is, he emphasized that ‘unrequited love’ angle in _The Tale of the Champion_ ,” she laughed a little. Leave it to Varric, trying to make it seem like a love triangle to sell copies. “But have you ever met someone who you just instantly felt like you were – whole, when you were with them?”

            She watched as the young Inquisitor met her gaze, looking like she was thinking. Slowly the other woman nodded, and Marian wondered at the look in her eyes. She was fairly certain she was thinking about someone in particular, and she remembered the exchange she had seen between her and Cullen.

            “Fenris was that for me. It was always him. Anders tried, he kissed me and asked me to be with him, but I couldn’t ever think about anyone but Fenris. Not since we met, not even during our years apart,” she confessed. She missed him. Talking about him made her feel a bit better. Then again it also made it hurt.

            “So where is he now?”

            “Some place safe,” Marian answered, her voice soft with the guilt she was feeling. “He doesn’t know where I am.”

            Evelyn looking thoroughly shocked. “You didn’t tell him?”

            Marian shook her head, and placed her hands over her lower belly. It was growing, her breeches were even tighter. It had been almost two months, with the Inquisitor's delay. She wished she could show him, could feel his hands exploring the growing babe. She noticed Evelyn watching her. She decided to change the subject before she started crying. “How about you? You’ve pried enough about me, is there something I can get out of you to make things fair?”

            She fell back on humor, fell back on humor to cover the sadness she felt. She caught the Inquisitor watching her intently as she giggled and answered, like she knew that Marian was faking the humor.

            “Ask her about Curly, if you’re trying to make her blush,” Varric’s voice suddenly chimed in as he took a seat between them in front of the fire.

            “Who’s Curly?” Hawke tried to distract herself with lighthearted curiosity. She still wanted to cry thinking about how much she missed her husband.

            “That’s the best part, Hawke. You know him,” Varric’s eyes were twinkling. He was trying to drop a heavy hint for her.

            She caught on to it. He meant Cullen.

            “Not -”

            “Oh yes,” her friend answered.

            Marian noticed Evelyn trying to avoid the conversation, fidgeting with her hair and staring into the fire. “Then he must be completely different now, like you tried to tell me,” she mused. She couldn’t help it. She thought back to the way he had flinched away from her when she tried to heal his wound. The absolute fear she had seen in his eyes, the way he had gasped _‘no – don’t – no magic’_ at her. “I can’t imagine the Knight-Captain I knew being in a relationship with a mage.”

            “What do you mean?” Evelyn asked suddenly, as if she couldn’t resist.

            Marian observed her, realizing she was right. The Inquisitor didn’t know, he hadn’t told her anything about Kirkwall. She felt like she owed it to the young mage to tell her, even if she felt a bit like she was interfering. “He hasn’t told you much about Kirkwall, has he?”

            The Inquisitor shrugged. “He’s told me a little. He seems like he doesn’t want to talk about it, though, and I’ve tried to respect that.”

            Marian pursed her lips, debating. She felt like she owed it to the other woman, like she needed to tell her. But she also hoped that maybe, after Meredith, he really had changed. “I believe in second chances, and I believe people can change,” she began slowly. “If I didn’t, Fenris and I would never work, considering his initial feelings on mages. But…”

            She kept watching the Inquisitor, seeing an apprehension on the other mage’s face. “Try to ask him about it, sometime,” Marian suggested. “I think you should know he wasn’t always so fond of mages.”

            “Hawke, that’s not fair,” Varric argued.

            “The Tranquil Solution,” Marian pointed out immediately. She remembered the way he had looked when she confronted him with it, so shiftily, as if he was guilty. As if he had heard the idea, as if he hadn’t thought it was such a bad one.

            She listened to Varric try to explain, to make it seem not as bad for Evelyn to hear. But it made her angry, and the babe in her belly had made her even feistier than she normally was. She cut in, she argued with him. The Inquisitor sat watching intently, trying to figure out what was going on.

            “Curly stood with us – hell, he took a blow for you and still has the scar to prove it,” Varric finally countered, and Marian fell silent.

            She grumbled, trying to think of a way to say that it “wasn’t necessary,” but she knew – she knew he was right. Cullen taking that blow for her possibly saved her life.

            “His scar? The one by his mouth?” Evelyn sat forward, keenly listening, her eyes wide.

            “Has he never told you the story? I thought maybe that was part of how he wooed you,” Varric nodded and answered her, looking at her amazed. “Figured he would waste no time telling you the story of how he threw himself in front of the Champion of Kirkwall and took a blow from his red-lyrium crazed Knight-Commander.”

            Marian was surprised he hadn’t told the young woman, especially if they were in a relationship as Varric seemed to be implying they were. She sat back, watching the other woman fall into a pensive silence, mulling over everything she had just been told.

            Hawke fell into her own thoughts, her hands over her belly. She remembered the fight with Meredith, the way Cullen had pushed her aside to save her, had stood before her to shield her after he'd been struck, but had pulled away from her healing. And the way she was pretty certain Fen had gone over to thank him for saving her, the way she had seen them shake hands before they fled the city.

 

 

            The Inquisitor was collapsing, screaming about how the demon looked like Cullen, crying, begging him, saying he couldn’t be dead. Saying she hadn’t failed him. Marian looked around at the demons surrounding them.

            It was Fenris, holding a baby. The baby was dead, and then Fenris was dead. Her family was gone. She’d lost them all –

            No.

            This was the Fade. These were demons.

            She summoned fire to her fingers, and threw flames at every demon surrounding them, watching as the fear of failing Fenris, of losing her family, was set aflame. She wouldn’t let the Nightmare conquer her.

           

 

            Their exit was blocked – someone needed to distract the demon.

            Her heart sank.

            She wasn’t going to make it back.

            The Wardens needed Stroud.

            The only person who needed her was Fenris.

            And the babe in her belly.

            But she was going to fail, she was going to leave them both.

            Because the smart choice was not her. She was not the one that should be saved.

            “Stroud,” she heard Evelyn say, and Stroud ran forward.

            “Wait – no!” Marian cried.

            But Varric and Evelyn grabbed her by the arms and pulled her through the rift.

 

 

            “Fenris,” Evelyn said suddenly, her voice a whisper after the shouts a moment ago, barely audible as she faced away from Marian. “It’s because of what you said about Fenris.”

            Marian felt tears spring into her eyes, she clasped a hand over her belly, thinking of the babe she was carrying, of the fact that she hadn’t failed it. That the young Inquisitor had unknowingly saved more than one life by saving her in the Fade.

            “I am grateful,” she murmured, her voice trembling. She was trying not to cry. “More than you could know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to  doubt – it’s just, Stroud was a good man, and a friend.”

            “I know he was,” the other woman whispered. “I’m so sorry I had to do it.”

            And suddenly Evelyn stumbled, like she was collapsing standing there.

            Cullen had been standing, watching their argument about leaving Stroud in the Fade.

            But as soon as he saw Evelyn falter, he lunged forward and caught her, pulling her tight against him. “Evelyn, are you all right?” The concern was clearly evident in his voice, and it tugged at Marian’s heartstrings to hear.

            “Cullen, will you carry me?” the Inquisitor requested softly.

            Marian’s eyebrows raised as she watched Cullen, the former Knight-Captain who had flinched when she offered healing, who had said mages weren't people, pull the young mage into his arms and lift her. He was holding her like she was the most precious thing to him in the world. It reminded her of the way Fenris held her, the way he clutched her to him sometimes, protective and loving.

            She couldn’t believe it as she watched Cullen give her an awkward nod and turn on his heel, walking away with Evelyn in his arms.

            Cullen was in love with the Inquisitor.

            He was in love with a mage.

            Maybe she’d been wrong about him, after all.

 

 

            She pulled her horse up beside Cullen, trying not to think about how much her back ached.

            “You seem a changed man, Commander,” she said.

            He turned to glance at her, looking slightly surprised that she was beside him. He looked ahead again, but she noticed that he wasn’t looking to see where he was guiding his horse. He was gazing at where she rode; he was staring ahead at Evelyn. “I’ve tried to be,” he answered, his voice low.

            “That’s obvious,” she agreed. “I never would have expected that the man who said mages weren’t really people could look at one the way you look at her.”

            His jaw clenched and he didn’t look at her. She worried she had angered him, which wasn’t her intention. She was trying to make an observation, trying to point out that it was pleasantly surprising.

            “I just mean it’s nice to see someone change for the better,” she explained. She hesitated, and then realized she had something important she needed to say, something Fenris had most likely done for her. “I never said thank you for that day.”

            He chuckled, a funny look on his face. “No, actually, I think I remember you told me to go fu -”

            “Yes, yes, I remember what I said,” she interrupted with a groan, not wanting to be reminded of the way she’d yelled at him when he didn’t let her heal him. “Let me say thank you, now, at least. I know it’s nearly two years late, but…thank you, Cullen.”

            He simply nodded, his gaze still fixed on the beautiful young Inquisitor ahead of them. From this angle she could see the scar, prominently marking the corner of his mouth and his lip. “You really should have let me heal that wound. It’s left quite the scar, I see,” she mused.

            He glanced her way and considered her for a moment. “No, I’m glad I didn’t let you,” he said, his tone firm, decisive.

            She raised an eyebrow, wanting to laugh at him. It was true that somehow that scar made him more attractive than he had been before. “Oh? Does it make you look more dashing – more ruggedly handsome, perhaps?” She couldn’t resist teasing, thinking of how Varric had pointed out its origin as a selling point to Evelyn for the Commander, like it made him heroic and more desirable.

            “It’s a reminder to be a better man,” he looked back at her as he answered.

            It was a wholly unexpected answer. And she was surprised to see the intensity in his brown eyes, the way that she could tell he truly meant it. “Well then,” she mused softly, “I suppose you were right not to let me. It seems to be working.”

 

 

            The rest of the journey passed easily, though her back ached, she was constantly starving, and her breeches felt uncomfortably tight. She’d begun to leave them unlaced. She was glad when they said they were only a half day’s ride away.

            She sat at camp at night, listening to Varric while he wrote, but watching Cullen and Evelyn. The way they looked at each other…

            She looked away from where she’d been staring at them, her eyes filling with tears.

            The way they looked at each other reminded her of her husband.

            Because they were looking at each other with pure love, pure worship in their eyes.

            And she missed him looking at her the same way desperately.


	13. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also a companion piece to Eye of the Storm.
> 
> xx,  
> L

            “Oh, _shit_ ,” she declared.

            She was staring wide-eyed with shock, disbelieving that he was really there.

            He heard her voice and turned from where he was towering over Varric with rage etched on every feature.

            The traveling pack she’d been carrying from the stables slipped from her grasp, but she couldn’t move.

            He was here.

            A desperate, pained look crossed his face and he took several long, rapid strides toward her. Without saying a word he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth against hers.

            She barely hesitated, mostly hesitating from the shock that he was there.

            He had come for her.

            He was safe.

            He was kissing her, and not yelling at her.

            She wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately clinging to him as her knees weakened and she felt herself overwhelmed by the feeling of his arms around her. His lips were twisting against hers with so much passion she almost thought she heard Evelyn let out a soft gasp from where she stood behind them. Marian began to cry.

            After what felt like blissful, desperate eternity of him kissing her, he pulled away and stared down into her face. She could see the pain, the fear, the relief in his eyes, and she finally cried, “I’m so sorry, Fen, I’m so sorry.”

            She buried her face in his neck, and he tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her hair.

            “Don’t _ever_ leave me like that again,” he demanded, and she could hear the emotion catching on the words.

            “I won’t, I promise. I had to. I’m so – I’m so sorry,” she pulled back to look into his eyes, hoping he knew how much she meant it.

            He held her to him with one arm but turned to face Varric. “I suppose I should thank you for not getting her killed.”

            Varric laughed. “I’ll let her tell you the story, I’m afraid you might decide to try to kill me if I tell it.”

            The dwarf was only half-joking, she could tell.

            Fen turned to look down at her, frowning. She laughed a little. “Oh please, we’ve been in tighter spots, Varric,” she shook her head a little and looked back up at her husband. “You should thank the Inquisitor, Fen – she’s the reason I’m still standing here.”

            She watched as Fen turned his intense, worried gaze to Evelyn. “Thank you, Inquisitor, for ensuring my family was returned to me.”

            Evelyn gave a solemn nod, and Marian could see tears welling in her eyes. “Of course,” she murmured, her voice sounding pained. She was thinking of Stroud, and the decision she had made. Marian was sure of it.

            “Come on, Sparkles, let’s let these two catch up,” Varric chuckled and led Evelyn away from where they stood.

            Fenris stared down at her, his eyes searching hers.

            “ _Amatus_ , I thought – I thought I had lost you, I thought you were gone,” he whispered. His eyes were welling with tears.

            “I didn’t want to lose you, I didn’t want anything to happen to you,” she told him. “I didn’t want to leave you. I’m – I’m so -” She couldn’t continue.

            “Marian, are you – is the – is our -” he looked pained, hesitant, apprehensive.

            She knew what he was asking.

            “Fen, it’s fine – I’m fine,” she stepped away from him finally and grabbed his hand, pulling it to her growing belly. “My breeches are starting to get too tight. I should have thought to bring something else to wear.”

            He ran his hand over her belly, feeling how much it had grown, feeling how it was starting to round the littlest bit. It was hardly noticeable looking at her, except to someone who knew her body as well as he did.

            He looked back up at her, wonder in his eyes.

            “It was - it was close, though, Fen,” she admitted, feeling herself choke up again. “Here, come with me, we’ll take a walk and I’ll tell you the story.”

            She took his hand and went to the stairs to lead him up to the battlements.

 

 

            “You were trapped in the _Fade_ , the raw Fade, while carrying – while with -” he was staring at her incredulously.

            “It wasn’t supposed to happen, _amatus_ , I wasn’t expecting it,” she tried to assure him. “I came to help her find the missing Grey Wardens, to help fight against Corypheus. I – I didn’t expect to end up -”

            “That’s the problem, Marian, you didn’t think!” he growled. He paced down the battlements away from her and back, rage etched on his face. “How could you leave like that, how could you think you could handle this alone?”

            “Fen -”

            He gave her a silencing glare and she stopped her interruption.

            “We’re _married_ , Hawke,” he said, and his use of ‘Hawke’ hurt, as if emphasizing his frustration. It felt like when they used to fight, early on. “That means we do things _together_. We are together, in all things. No more running off like this, no more handling things on your own. It’s you and I, _amatus_. You and I, against all of Thedas, if need be.”

            His voice broke with the emotion in his throat, the passion building up as he spoke.

            “No more solo heroics, Marian,” he pleaded. “It’s us, together. That’s what it means. Promise me.”

            She pressed her lips together and nodded, tears running down her cheeks. “I just didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

            “We’re about to have a family,” he murmured, stepping toward her. “And I just spent over two months thinking I had lost it, that I was going to lose it forever. You’re – you’re all I have, _amatus_. You – and my babe growing within you. I will fight for both of you, with my life. Because those are the vows I have made, that I intend to keep.”

            His eyes were gleaming with his declaration, with his intention. His passion.

            She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

            She hadn’t thought of it that way.

            She had only thought of keeping him safe, of protecting him.

            But he was right, they’d sworn vows. These were the sorts of trials and tribulations they were supposed to face together.

            “I’m sorry, Fen, you’re right,” she murmured.

            He had stepped closer to her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “ _Amatus, amatus, festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” he teased softly.

            “No, no, please, don’t say that,” she groaned, but she laughed through her tears. “That’s what I was worried about, that’s why I left -”

            Night had fallen; the battlements they stood on were dark. They were standing beside one of the towers, its shadow helping cover them in darkness, a few barrels pushed near the wall beside them.

            He was still holding her by the shoulders, but he pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers.

            “I remain by your side,” he murmured, and pressed another kiss to her lips. “Always. Always. You’re my wife, _amatus_. I am here. We are together, in all things.”

            She wrapped her arms around his neck, and clung to him, crushing her lips to his.

            She needed him. She’d missed him beyond words.

            The feelings crashed over her. The fear that she had left him behind, possibly forever. The fear  that she may not return, that he may leave her after her abandonment. The fear that something could happen to their child, to her, or to him. The relief that they were reunited. The fact that he had forgiven her, that he loved her, that he was only angry that she hadn’t remembered their vows and had him help her with her problems. That he had been worried for her, desperate with concern for she and their unborn child.

            She felt everything so intensely until she whimpered against his lips.

            “Fen – I need you, I want you – I’m so sorry, I love you,” she gasped in between his kisses.

            He growled slightly, the look in his eyes intensifying as he looked down into her face.

            And then he was upon her, his hands undoing the laces that tied the top of her blouse, freeing her swollen breasts as he tugged it down over her shoulders. He grabbed them and she cried out, aroused by the sensation of pleasure and pain that coursed through her from his eager caresses. She was oversensitive, her body undergoing too much in her pregnant state, and she mewled as he massaged her nipples.

            “ _Amatus_ ,” he groaned, and he pushed her to the barrel behind them. “I missed you. Our home isn’t the same without you, my days were so empty without you near.”

            She whimpered, feeling like crying again. She ran her fingers along his ears and he moaned, he growled. His fingers began working on her breeches, and he pushed them down, encouraging her to let them slide down and kick them off. She was glad she’d put on leather slippers because her boots had felt too tight on her feet, now that was able to slide her breeches off faster.

            He freed her and lifted her to perch on the edge of the barrel before he began to undo his own laces, lowering his breeches until he was free. He parted her thighs so he could rest between them, tilting how she sat on the edge of the barrel so he could slide inside her.

            The moment was pure ecstasy after their separation, and she cried out.

            He smothered the sound with a kiss.

            “Quiet, _amatus_ , I don’t want to have to stop because someone comes by,” he murmured against her lips.

            “I’ll – I’ll try, but – oh, Fen,” she gasped, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to steady herself as he thrust into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately as he sped up, his rhythm starting to betray his longing, his eagerness.

            She already felt pushed to the edge, her moans becoming more pronounced. She trailed her fingers down his arms, accidentally brushing his markings, and they suddenly glowed.

            He groaned and stopped his thrusts, grabbing her face in one hand and tugging her bottom lip roughly between his teeth.

            She knew what he was doing and she moaned.

            “Fen – stop teasing me, please,” she gasped.

            He chuckled as he stared down at her, his eyes gleaming with suggestive wickedness. “Run off like that ever again and I won’t go so easy on you,” he told her, his voice husky and sending a shiver down her spine. He started thrusting again, harder, faster, with more deliberation to hit the sweet spots he knew would push her over into the abyss. She moaned but as soon as he heard the noise he stopped again.

            She whimpered, and he slid his free hand between them, lightly stroking and teasing her excited pearl. He still had his hold on her jaw with his other hand, and was smirking down at her. “I am yours,” he brushed his lips against hers.

            She was reminded of the second time, when they reconciled. When she said she loved him, and he held her face and watched her intently as he made her repeat it. The memory set her body on fire, she felt even closer to the edge. It was one of her fondest memories.

            “I want to hear you say it. Tell me, Marian,” he commanded in a growl.

            “I am yours -” she rushed to assure him. “Fen, please – make me – _ohh_ ,” she trailed off in a moan as he began thrusting faster, harder, as soon as he heard her declaration. He kissed her deeply, finally releasing her jaw and sliding his hand into her golden curls. The action was so familiar she began to let out soft cries, finally feeling home, finally feeling at peace and whole again.

            Their separation had been more difficult than she had thought it could be, and their reunion was sweeter than she could have ever imagined.

            He growled a little in response to her cries, he moved his fingers against her with more purpose, and she felt herself about to fall over the edge.

            She almost thought she saw something move behind him in the shadows, like a small figure was sneaking away through the shadows. But at that moment he whispered her name, and she lost herself in pleasure she had missed for over two months at the same moment he went deep and finished within her.

            They were together once more.

            And that was all that mattered.


	14. Congratulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also a companion piece to Eye of the Storm.

            “Can you feel it moving at all?” he murmured as he smoothed his hand over the roundness of her lower belly. He was lying between her legs, his face near the bump he was so lovingly caressing and admiring.

            “No, not yet,” she answered, the smile never leaving her face.

            He propped himself on his elbows and ran his tongue over her tight skin, tickling her navel and making her jerk and try to pull away from him. “Fen stop! That -”

            But he tightened his hold on her hips and grinned at her before he shifted even further down her body. He slipped his tongue along her slit and she cried out, her nerves constantly on edge and ready to push her to the brink now that she was pregnant.

            “ _Amatus_ we promised Varric we’d -” she tried to protest but her words were cut short by a loud moan escaping her lips. “Never mind, don’t stop,” she sobbed and he chuckled against her.

            “He’ll still be there when I’m done with you, Marian,” he purred, and slid two fingers within her.

            She forgot her promises to their friend as she fell apart under the careful rhythm of his tongue against her.

            He was right, Varric wasn’t going anywhere, and they had a lot of missed time to catch up on.

 

 

 

            “I uh – understand congratulations are in order,” Evelyn said, and she almost looked like she was blushing. Marian remembered the notion she’d had that someone had seen them on the battlements the previous night, and for a moment she wondered if it had been the young Inquisitor. The thought made her chuckle.

            But she realized what Evelyn was implying and looked to Varric with an eyebrow raised.

            “She’d figured it out, Hawke, I didn’t tell her,” he shrugged.

            “I wish you’d told me,” Evelyn chimed in earnestly. “You were putting yourself at risk for me, I was responsible for you -”

            “It’s fine, Evelyn,” Hawke murmured. She didn’t want to think about the sacrifice that had to be made so that she could sit there in the tavern beside her husband. “It was my decision. Plus it all worked out in the end.”

            She pushed aside the guilt about Stroud. Evelyn had saved more than one life with her choice. She didn’t need to see Marian upset about it, to make her feel worse than she already did.

            Fenris squeezed her hand tightly and she looked at him, and their eyes met with love. It had worked out.

            “So how long before we get to meet your little troublemaker?” Varric asked, and he chuckled and winked at Fenris.

            “Not for another five, six months maybe?” Marian shrugged and smiled. “We had only just discovered that I was when I received your letter.”

            “Yes, wonderful timing as always,” Fen quipped.

            Varric chuckled and distracted himself with a sip of ale. Marian and Fenris shared a look, and she tried not to burst out laughing as she remembered. She knew Fen was thinking of the day Varric had interrupted them right before they both came. Fen barely quirked an eyebrow in humor at her.

            “How much longer are you planning to stay, Hawke?” Evelyn asked after a few moments.

            “We’re leaving this evening. I think I’ve done all I can to help you, it’s probably time for me to step back and leave everything in your capable hands,” Marian answered. She gave the other woman a broad smile, thinking about how much they had come to respect and admire each other. She would be nervous about Thedas’ future if she didn’t know Evelyn was more than capable of handling things.

            She frowned suddenly, realizing how sad Evelyn had seemed for most of their journey, how distant things had seemed between she and the Commander. She knew now just how wrong she’d been about him. “I’d like to apologize, though, Evelyn,” she said.

            “For not telling me? Don’t worry about it, like you said it all worked out in the end,” Evelyn demurred.

            “No, not that,” Hawke regarded her carefully for a moment. “I’m sorry for the assumptions I made about the Commander. I hope my words didn’t complicate things for you both. It appears he is a great deal different from the man I knew in Kirkwall. I should have waited to see it for myself before I said anything.”

            Evelyn stared thoughtfully at her clasped hands on the table. A soft smile came across her face as she answered, “It’s all right, Hawke. I think – I think you helped, actually.”

            Marian raised her eyebrows. “Oh did I?”

            Evelyn giggled and blushed, and Varric’s eyes widened. “There’s that dreamy look that’s been missing for a while, Sparkles. I take it there’s been more stolen kisses on the battlements?”

            Evelyn’s blush deepened until it was crimson. “Not on the battlements, no,” she finally answered with a smirk.

 

 

            “I’ll get our horses, _amatus_ ,” Fen said and he walked to the stables.

            Marian looked up and saw Evelyn and Cullen walking across the bridge above her. “Evelyn!” she called out, and waved a hand when the Inquisitor turned to see who was calling her. She turned and said something to the Commander before they both turned and headed for the stairs to the courtyard.

            They reached Marian at the same time Fenris rejoined them with their horses. Evelyn stopped before her and held her hand out, but Hawke merely stared at it for a moment before she stepped forward and pulled the other woman into a tight hug. Evelyn paused for a moment and then wrapped her arms around her to return the hug.

            “Take care of yourself, Evelyn,” Hawke said as she finally let her go. She gave her a soft smile before turning a critical eye to Cullen. “Don’t let anything happen to her, Commander. There’s too much at risk – I expect you to look after her.”

            The Commander raised his eyebrows, looking thoroughly taken aback by her protectiveness. “What happened to the sarcastic, never-takes-anything-seriously Champion that I knew in Kirkwall?”

            “She’s expecting a child and wants for there to still be a world to welcome it into in a few months. So you better make sure there is one,” Marian replied coolly.

            “What she means is that she doesn’t want to have to make the journey back to Skyhold to hurt you if you fail,” Fenris chimed in, and he gave a lazy smirk. “So don’t make her.”

            Cullen chuckled and shook his head slightly. “I promise you won’t have to do that, Hawke.”

            “Good, because if I’m further along than this,” she gestured to her stomach, “I’ll have to send Fenris instead. And he isn’t as nice as I am.” She wiggled her eyebrows, trying to make her threat sound playful. A part of her certainly meant it. She wasn’t sure if it was the age difference or the Inquisitor’s naïve nature, but she felt overly protective of her, like an older sister might. She knew now that Cullen was a good man, but she knew too that it would fall to him to help protect her as she took on all of Thedas’ problems. He couldn’t fail.

            Cullen laughed in response to her playful, protective threat and held his hand out to her.

            “It was actually nice to see you, Cullen, now that you’re not such an insufferable ass,” she told him as she took his hand. “If I’d known kissing a mage would have changed you this much, maybe I would have tried a different approach in Kirkwall,” she teased.

            “Nice to see you haven’t changed, Hawke. I was worried expecting a child would make you go soft in places other than your belly,” he countered. She scowled at him and Evelyn giggled, but secretly she was surprised and delighted by the lighthearted nature he with which he was returning her teasing.

            It certainly was nice to see someone change for the better.

            Fenris stepped forward and held his arm out to the Commander, and they shared a meaningful look as they clasped each other’s forearms in farewell. Marian felt sure they were remembering the last time they had shaken hands.

            “It was nice to meet you, Fenris,” Evelyn said softly, and she stared at him uncertainly for a moment before she stepped forward and gave him a hug. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Marian over the young woman’s head and she smiled at him. “Good luck, and – well, congratulations again.”

            Fen watched as the Inquisitor stepped back. “Good luck to you as well,” he answered after a moment. “And thank you, Evelyn.”

            Marian could hear the tug of his voice, but she wasn’t sure anyone else caught the weight of his words. He turned and helped her onto her horse as if trying to hide the emotions he was feeling, and then he pulled himself onto his own mount.

            She stared down at the couple beside her and took a moment to take in the looks on their faces. If she wasn’t mistaken, Evelyn looked close to tears and Cullen actually looked slightly moved to see them departing. It was quite the change from the last time he had watched them depart.

            “I’d say I hope we see each other soon,” she mused, trying to cut the tension with humor like she always did. “But I honestly hope we don’t. At least, not for a while.”

            Evelyn laughed a little. “Thank you for everything Hawke – I mean it,” she said, and Marian could tell she didn’t just mean the help she had provided the Inquisition. Maybe her words about Cullen really had helped the pair before her.

            Marian smiled at her one last time and turned her mount away. She and Fenris rode out the gate, leaving Skyhold behind them.


	15. Never Happier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter at the end of this chapter is from Eye of the Storm and is the reason I wanted to expand on and write my take on this pairing after writing them for that fic.
> 
> Prepare for lots of fluff.
> 
> xx,  
> L

            She had never thought she could be so happy to return home. It felt different than it had in Kirkwall, every time she made it home after their adventures out and about. Now it felt like the most wonderful, safe feeling in the world.

            They stripped out of their traveling cloaks and armor, having made the journey easily and uneventfully from Skyhold. Marian was starving and began to search the kitchen for something to eat, but Fen pushed her aside gently.

            “Sit at the table, _amatus_ , I’ll make you something,” he said.

            She raised her eyebrows but did as he asked, thoroughly bemused. He had begun cooking a little before she left, but now she watched as he moved confidently through the kitchen. He was chopping vegetables, he readied some cured meat that they had stored, and he almost hummed softly to himself as he worked.

            “Is this how you spent your time while I was gone?” she asked, watching him entranced.

            He smiled at her. “I figured with a little one on the way, one of us should finally learn to actually cook,” he replied smoothly.

            Her heart soared.

            He was still the perfect man, and she fell in love with him all over again as she watched him make her dinner.

            It was good to be in their home, together.

 

 

 

            “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Marian was staring at the healer slack-jawed, not certain she had heard the woman correctly.

            “Twins, serah,” the woman repeated, speaking slowly and staring at Marian’s shocked face.

            “Are you sure it’s not just my full stomach? Fen’s been feeding me so much lately, I’m positively fat,” she pointed out. She was still stunned, in denial.

            “There’s two heartbeats, in addition to yours,” the healer replied easily. “Definitely two babies in there. But they’re healthy and strong, I can tell.”

            Marian raised her gaze to Fenris and saw him wide-eyed as he also absorbed the news. He finally glanced her way and his face broke into a wide grin. “Two babies, Marian,” he murmured, looking happier than she had ever seen him.

 

 

 

            “I can feel it!” he gasped, and he pressed his hands against her round belly as if trying to hold it and focus on the feeling. “They’re – _amatus_ , they feel like they’re dancing.”

            She laughed and shifted slightly in her chair. “I know, it’s murder on my spine.”

            He was staring at her belly, caressing her stretched out skin with his hands as he enjoyed the feeling of his babies kicking within her. He leaned toward her navel and pressed his ear against it. He chuckled softly and then began murmuring words in Tevene, the cadence almost sounding like a poem or a song. He rattled off the words, looking lost in his own little world.

            When he finally kissed her and stood to return to his chores, she sat watching him, feeling perfectly at peace. No more than half an hour had to have passed before he was back over before her, kneeling and running his hands over her round belly.

            The babies responded immediately, kicking and moving around within her. She gasped, unprepared for their enthusiasm. They hadn’t moved since he had last had his hands on her.

            “Are they always this energetic?” he asked, surprised.

            “No, they haven’t been – only when you touch me, Fen,” she told him. She shifted again in the chair as she adjusted to the relatively new feeling of her children moving within her.

            He beamed at her belly. “They must know their father is near,” he murmured softly.

            Her heart melted.

            He had never looked happier.

 

 

 

            _Varric,_

_Fen and I made it back safe, in no time at all. We didn’t even run into any bandits, which was almost disappointing. After my little adventure to see you and help the Inquisition, though, Fen seems determined that we just enjoy the domestic for a while and stay here out of trouble. Surprisingly I’m not too bothered by that idea; I could use a break. My feet are killing me these days._

_He’s taught himself to cook, and Maker everything he makes is delicious. You’d love it, he even tried his hand at that roast they used to serve at the Hanged Man, and it was so close I thought I was back in Kirkwall. But he cooks so much and it’s all so tasty, I’m positively fat as a druffalo now – and he just keeps on feeding me. It’s his new favorite hobby, cooking and watching me eat seconds and thirds of everything he’s made. I hate it – but also I don’t. I never thought the man could be so amazing in the kitchen. We went to a healer to determine how far along I am, and she said I’m having twins. I had to ask her if she was just feeling my overstuffed stomach because he’s been feeding me so much – but no, she’s positive that there are two babies inside of me. No wonder I’m so fat and ravenous._

_Can you imagine? Two little troublemakers, two little versions of he and I; Thedas isn’t prepared for that madness, I don’t think. I’m getting positively maternal, you should see the nursery I’m setting up. I’m absolutely obsessed with the idea of little half-elves with green eyes running around the house. I think after these two we may have a few more. The idea makes me so happy I can’t stand it. Honestly I’m not sure you’d recognize me right now, but damn it, Varric – I’m so fucking happy I can hardly stand it._

_I didn’t think it was possible, but Fen loves me being pregnant more than I do. It’s such a change, I’ve never seen him more blissful, more content. He’s about to have a family, something he chose, something he worked for and can protect and provide for. He can’t get enough of it. I can’t go five minutes without him coming over to touch my belly, or rest his ear against it to listen to it. Sometimes he talks to it, sometimes in Tevene, and it’s the most adorable thing ever. The babies positively love it when he touches me, they squirm and kick around like mad – they don’t do that any other time, really, just for him, just when he comes over and touches me. He positively beams when it happens – you may have to come up with a new nickname for him because he’s certainly not Broody anymore._

_I hope Evelyn is still doing all right. I told Curly to look out for her, and I hope he took me seriously. She’s such a sweet girl, and I hate to think about how much depends on her. Tell her I say hello, and that when all of this is over she needs to come visit. I want to show her the two babies she helped save in the Fade and treat her to some relaxation. I suppose she could even bring Curly if she wanted._

_Anyway, Fen is busy making what smells like roast potatoes and if I don’t have some soon I may set something on fire. It smells positively sinful and I’m famished – then again I’m always famished these days._

_Marian_


End file.
